


Florist and the Machine

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Series: spn au & trope bingo [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, Florist Jared, Fucking Machines, Implied Sexual Content, Jared in heat, Jared owns a flower shop, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Jared Padalecki, Omega Verse, Other, camboy - implied, pornfree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 16:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Jared owns a flower shop. It doesn't really pay the bills.





	Florist and the Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Created for  
> [SPN ABO bingo](https://spnabobingo.tumblr.com): Fucking machine  
> and  
> [spn au & trope bingo](https://spnaubingo.tumblr.com): Florist!Jared

Jared takes a deep breath, letting the smells of his little flower shop settle over and calming him. The delivery truck has just left and with the way the driver – and unpleasant specimen and an alpha to boot – had kept getting all up in Jared’s personal space it was clear there was something wrong with the blockers he wears whenever he’s at the shop.  
Moving closer to the counter he’s enveloped in the rich scent of the roses he’s put there earlier in the morning, overpowering the lingering stench of the driver’s bad breath and body odor until Jared’s finally able to put him out of his mind.

It’s a day like any other; only a few people make the bell above the door jingle and fewer still make a purchase, their coins echoing in the empty till – being a florist isn’t really a lucrative business and Jared used to lose sleep at night, wondering where he’d get the money to pay his creditors.  
Now though he takes the time when he’s alone in the shop to make bouquets, wreaths and whatever else his hands feel like making.

There’s restlessness in his limbs and heat coursing through his blood making sweat bead on his forehead and his stomach clench painfully. He takes his lunch a little earlier than usual when he realizes the blockers didn’t fail but that his heat is a little early; thankfully not by much, so he just needs to make the final preparations to be ready for tonight.  
Once back in the shop his hands keep weaving flowers into magical construction while he talks with the few people walking through his door.

At long last the sun settles and Jared locks up the shop, making sure to put up the “closed due to vacation” sign he made a few years back, and then tidying up a bit to burn off some of his excess energy before ascending the stairs to the tiny apartment above the shop.  
It may not be much, tiny rooms saturated in the smells of moist soil and fragrant flowers, but it belongs to Jared, his sanctuary where nobody but he has ever set foot.

He locks this door too; the click of it is like a physical weight lifting from his shoulders making him stand straighter. Standing on the door mat he quickly strips off his clothes kicking it aside before making his way towards the bathroom where he’ll soak in the tub barely big enough for him to sit in with his legs stretched until he looks like a prune and is almost asleep.  
In the end he sluggishly pulls himself from the tub, dries off, hangs the damp towel on the rack and is through the door to his bedroom in less than a minute.

A flick of his hand brings the light alive – a soft glow just enough to illuminate the device on the floor having taken up the space where Jared’s bed usually is.  
He walks around the device, carefully looking over every assembly and the bolts holding it in place; runs his hands over the soft velvet cushion, tests the bindings with a few tugs and then letting his eyes scan the provisions he’s placed at the wall: twelve bottles of water and a box of energy bars. Once satisfied he clicks on the camera before strapping himself in.

~

It’s the last rational act he’s capable of for the next three days as his heat grabs him tightly not offering the slightest respite no matter how many times the machine drives the silicone flesh deeper inside him, how many times the timer inflates the artificial knot. When the three days are up the room reeks of slick and semen and Jared’s skin is tacky with what hasn’t yet gathered in the puddle under him.  
His knees and the palms of his hands are sore, his stomach tender even with the velvet draped over the seat he’s been resting against, there are marks where he’s fought against the restraints and his backside feels as if it’s been torn open and flayed with a rose branch.

He’s going to drink some water and eat as many energy bars as he can before he’ll collapse beside them as he always does. And tomorrow he’s going to clean of the machine so it’s ready for his next heat, is going to order too much junk food and get his bed back in place to sleep in. Tomorrow he’ll even look through all the footage and hopefully there’ll be enough for three or four of those little videos that lets him sleep through the nights and keep his little flower shop.


End file.
